Pear Shaped – Short Story

“WELCOME MR. PATTERSON, to Pear headquarters – I’m Sheena!” She looked every part the PR woman; a smile for a face, glinting eyes, and dressed immaculately in matching garb. I would. We shook hands then she led the way through a recently polished revolving door into the main building. Strangely quiet.

A lackey of some sort followed her but never introduced himself. At best it was mildly off-putting, at worst a waste of his time.

“Would you like some refreshments Mr. Patterson? We have organic fruit juices, Sumatran coffee, Sri Lankan tea – French water.” All were present on a shiny trolley next to reception.

“I’ll have some…is that Pear juice?”

She chuckled, yes of course it was.

“Well,” I said, “It only seems appropriate…” I nearly gagged but kept my composure; it was repulsive, every last ml of it.

“So. To business!” She beamed. “Let’s begin the tour!”

We chatted as we walked along a perpetual corridor. As yet we hadn’t passed anyone else since reception. We twisted and turned. She talked about Pear’s history with obscene passion, it’s legacy, about the companies role as the international leader in electronics… Beguiling as she was, fascination was not something she was capable of evoking in words. Yawns were masked by looking away from her at bare walls.

Without me realising it we were walking down a strangely dilapidated, dingy corridor that had paint peeling off it. My observations hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Workmen are coming in tomorrow, I’m afraid we weren’t able to have this area refurbished for your visit.” Without warning Sheena opened a door and shot a look at the lackey as if he had forgotten his place.

Her elastic smile returned instantly. “This – is the ethics room.”

I walked inward. What lay within was a room with one miserly fluorescent tube missing its cover. There were no windows. The décor was all a bit…suicidal eggshell white. In the middle of this oversized room sat a man, who made eye contact from behind a rickety desk adorned solely by a single white telephone, its wire snaking straight toward an outlet ten metres away. I’ll never forget those eyes. If I was asked to recall what colour they were, I’d say desperate.

He said nothing, but looked in need of help. A red striped tie hung crooked from a shirt of wrinkles.

“You might not believe it, but we only require one telephone for all the Pear’s ethics inquiries. Our seed answers any inquiries, but of course we don’t get many, this is Pear after all! But the job is very valuable and most importantly rewarding to the seed.”

“Seed?” I asked quizzically.

Sheena smiled at me with twenty I-teeth, “All of our basic level employees are referred to as ‘seeds’ because we are all a team at Pear’s, so there’s no need for names you see.”

“Or individuality..” I mumbled audibly, thinking aloud.

“Excuse me?” said Sheena politely, before moving on.

“He is seed, and he is seed.” She indicated to the desperate man at the desk and the lackey standing feet away, eyes fixed on the dirty concrete.

“So how many complaints do you receive each day?” I aimed the question at the man atthe desk, my words echoing.

“I’m sorry, but please direct all questions to me Mr. Patterson,” said Sheena evenly. “I’ll let you in on a little secret Mr. Patterson, we haven’t had a call here in nearly two years, she whispered. ‘I think you’ll agree, that speaks for itself!”

“That seems impossible!”

Sheena answered while scooting us out of the room and continuing the tour. “At Pear, nothing is impossible! We conduct ourselves impeccably as a company. Our employees report the highest satisfaction rates also. In fact many seeds will work overtime for free because they value their workplace so much. It is a mutual dedication. At the risk of sounding overly sentimental, there is a love between seeds and working for Pear.”

This was followed by footsteps echoing off the walls, as a rare silence began.

“Where are we going now?” I said minutes later.

“Deeper,” she said.

“Deeper?”

“To the core.” In the poorly lit corridor I no longer saw her smile. Her facial skin was tighter, footsteps quicker.

It seemed as if we’d walked miles past door after door and still nobody else had been around. Turning I noticed the lackey was no longer with us…

“So how many seeds are there?”

“Never enough.” Her voice was colder, heel clicks more rapid.

“It’s very quiet down here, not many people around. Or windows…where are we going?”

“You, are going where all the other factory inspectors go.” She glanced sideways at me. “Somewhere safe, somewhere ethical. A place away from home. You’ll have all the time in the world to inspect the factory…”

Was that a… smirk? The atmosphere changed for good.

“I don’t follow…”

“Do not address me unless spoken to…seed. You’ll enjoy it here, because that’s the Pear way, the only way.” And she laughed the crazy laugh of a pencil skirted chameleon.

Loved the weirdness of this – great atmosphere. Some cracking lines too – “If I was asked to recall what colour they were, I’d say desperate” – superb. There’s something so powerful about using a simple word like “seed” to dehumanise the cast – too often I think writers fall into the trap of coming up with something convoluted and it rarely has the same impact.

Whoa, thank you 🙂
The idea was based on a number of aspects of companies and the cog-like effect, exploitation etc while they make more and more profit.
Much agreed on convoluted words/concepts…straightforward usually works best. cheers.